Where the Violets Bloom
by Abject Tears
Summary: For violets grow in both worlds, but only there do they bloom.
1. Where the Violets Bloom

I do not own Narnia.

Rated T to be safe- I am more than a bit scared of the rating system, so, better to leave it up there. Later in the story there is some rather unpleasant blood and dealing with serious themes, so I thought T would be better. =)

Please review! This drabble-y thing is a sort of prelude to the real story (:

* * *

She is sitting in the field, the mud and water staining her dress, but she doesn't care, for it could never compare to what she had _there_, anyway.

A little along the path, the neighbour's children are wondering over a violet, eyes wide and shining, with laughter and beatific innocence.

She wishes she could still do that.

Because violets grow both here and _there_, but only there do they bloom.


	2. Falling

Disclaimer. Lewis is a genius, I'm not. He owns Narnia, I don't.

This will, hopefully, be a multi-chapter AU showing the children's stumbling way through a hard time spanning the aftermath of their father's death. This is an updated version, I changed the dream for mysterious greater purposes which I myself do not understand (Y)

I believe that in the books, Mr. Pevensie returned safely. Hence the AU.

Please review ^^

* * *

It wasn't the vastness of the night sky that scared her, or the darkness.

It was the unfamiliarity.

Back there, she had known the night sky as well as her family's faces, she could trace every constellation and tell every story, and the stars' gentle glow always blessed her, making her believe in the magic of night.

"They used to sing." Lucy's soft voice broke her reverie, and she looked up, sadness etched on her beautiful face.

"They did." The unspoken words hung in the air. _Not anymore._

"Do you think the skies are different? I can't find the stars I used to know. Are we looking at the same sky as Tumnus did, that Caspian maybe is?"

Susan stared out, into the fathomless black depths of night, lit by pinpricks of light. _I don't know._

"Maybe, Lucy."

Memories, so many memories that taunted and delighted her, haunting her steps. Memories of a world so beautiful it hurt to think of it, memories of a life so special that now, torn from it, she felt so very lost. Memories of a different sky that she used to stare up at, memories of stars that used to sing for them all night.

And memories of peace and joy and balance and serenity, memories of He who she loved so much, He who had banished her from the land of her heart, He who had restored her faith with a single glance, He who had given her peace in those majestic golden eyes.

Memories that served only to scream in her face of all that was beautiful and joyful and wonderful, all that she could no longer have.

"Lucy? Do you have faith?" The sudden question caught Lucy off guard, and the younger girl gave her sister a thoughtful look. There was a long silence before she spoke.

"I do." And there was such quiet confidence, such utter faith in that childish voice that held so many hidden depths. Susan envied her sister that faith, at times. It would be so wonderful, to stop worrying about everything and be able to give everything up to the greater powers, to trust so implicitly that He would make it for the best.

"I have faith in Him. Susan…" She was reminded forcibly that Lucy was no child at the look in those blue eyes.

"Sometimes…sometimes reason will get us nowhere. You can reason all you want and you'll never understand why we…why we had to come back. But Susan, if you'll believe, it's enough. He'll see us through. Trust in Him if in nothing else."

"I'll try," Susan managed, voice choked with tears.

"Look," Lucy's voice was hushed with wonder as she gasped and stared out of the window. And Susan looked, and she saw.

"Second star to the right…"

"Straight on 'til morning." Susan smiled softly at the familiar phrase. It always seemed to signify the way home. And sure enough, up in this unfamiliar sky, two stars right of the moon…

So they sat there until morning, holding each other and in their dreams, following the second star home.

* * *

"2 laps before you go for break, go on! Just because you're girls doesn't mean..."

"You can't be better than a boy," Susan muttered under her breath. It was the PE teacher's favourite phrase. Feminism was well and good, but only when it did not constitute trying to meet the physical achievements of the opposite gender. Wishing she had the strong, compactly-muscled yet tall and willowy frame she'd had _there,_ she set out, alone on the outside track. Just like usual. The other girls, keeping to the shortest route, gossiped and giggled. But she didn't need the shortest route, she wasn't going anywhere anyway.

Lengthening her stride, she easily overtook the leaders-she might not have the fitness she'd had, but she was better than the lipstick-obssessed girls in her class. Losing herself and her memories in the lightness of her footfalls and the feeling of flight that drove her, she almost didn't hear when someone yelled her name from the side of the track. Almost. But that voice was one of the three she knew so well they could've been the theme song of her life, and she knew it. She knew it, and she knew the unnatural ring to it which meant the owner was afraid, and the high tone which meant she was near tears, and the urgency in it that sent her sprinting over.

_Lucy._

Her little sister looked so small and vulnerable that she skidded to a halt for a moment. She kept expecting to see Queen Lucy the Valiant in all her glory, only to see Lucy Pevensie a little girl. And yet their eyes were the same...

"Lu? What-?" She folded her sister into her arms as she spoke, mothering instincts and fearful curiosity warring.

"I-no-fine-Su, the boys-"

"What?" Susan's eyes flamed brown fire.

"Nightmare," she choked out and Susan's face softened. "Oh, Lu..."

"No! You don't _understand_-Su, it wasn't a _dream_, it was a message-"

"Lu-calm down, I know you're scared-"

"_No_! It-was-_not-a-dream._ Susan Pevensie, I don't lie. Aslan knows-"

"Shh!" Desperately Susan dragged her away, to a corner, abandoning her laps.

Defiantly, eyes shining with tears but glowing with passion, Lucy stared her Gentle sister down.

"What was it about?"

_Dreams, she decided morosely, were annoying. It didn't matter what they said in books about enlightenment and beauty and wonder and visions, dreams were downright annoying. It was in fact quite an impressive feat to get Lucy this annoyed, and her siblings would have looked at dreams with new respect if they had known._

_Unfortunately, they could not know, because they were all sleeping, peacefully and soundly and uninterrupted by repeated dreams that for all her efforts, she could not remember._

_The first time, before the last remnants had slipped through her mind like silt through her fingers, she had remembered something- she was sure of it- but all she could remember was that she remembered something, not what that something was, and it was driving her crazy. Utterly, completely off her rocker. Light, and darkness had featured rather heavily, that much she knew. And the moment before she'd jerked awake, for one second, caught between two worlds, one of dreams and one of reality, she'd heard the far-off echo of a lion's roar._

_That, in itself, was enough to make her desperate to remember. The fact that she'd repeated the experience twice helped quite a bit._

_The second time, she was pretty sure the image of a flower, caught in the wind, had appeared sometime. The third, current time, she could remember nothing, and she was getting very irritated. __If someone wanted to tell her something, they should really just tell her already._

_And it seemed that whoever it was, they heeded her instructions._

_...__The fragrant scent of a lily filled her senses, and she slowly rose, not entirely sure of where on earth (or Narnia) she was. A little farther on, a single lily bloomed in the middle of the greenest grass she had seen in either world._

_Hang on._

_Lilies, she was pretty certain, were water plants._

_On the other hand, she was feeling quite ready to accept that Jadis was in fact a nice, misunderstood woman, so the fact that a water lily was blooming in the middle of a field really shouldn't bother her that much._

_Fascinated, she moved closer, closer, reaching out a hand to touch the petals that daintily swayed in the light breeze, admiring the elegance of the plant as she watched it, vaguely aware of the fact that the sun was setting in the distance and why was she here and where on earth was 'here' and what time was it and lilies don't grow in grass and finally, a calm realisation that she really didn't care about all of that._

_Then she moved forward, faster, faster, and suddenly deep, jaw-wrenching, fist-clenching terror took hold of her, for she had not moved. Not one bit._

_But her body was hurtling forward, closer, faster, swifter, stronger, and suddenly she was aware of every nerve, muscle, sinew and tendon in her body as it stretched to its limits and snatched the plant and with an awful, indescribable sound ripping its roots. Horror filled her as a sudden image of her sister leapt into her mind- 'Susan' meant 'lily'- and before she could try to stop, her hands and her arms were tearing the flower apart._

_When people say that plants cry out when you cut them down, you don't really believe them._

_But it did, and it sounded painfully like the cries of her siblings in pain and with a sudden start she wondered where they were._

_With a strange, terrifying certainty, she knew they were in danger. How she knew she could not have said, but she was more attuned to the beating hearts and pulsing lives of those she loved than any she knew of, and she had never been wrong before. That really wasn't reassuring, she thought. In fact, that was bad. Very bad._

_"Great Lion," she whispered, a prayer as natural to her as drawing breath, "protect them, protect them, protect them..." In her hands the lily was now a shredded mess of white and yellow and a painful reminder of beauty that once was..._

_The unmistakeable ringing sound of an unsheathed sword was the last thing she heard before a steel blade bit her shoulder, and she had just enough time to recognise it as Rhindon before she woke up._

_She screamed._

_

* * *

_Ouch. Not very pleasant. Anyway, please review! :) 


	3. Rain

Hello good people of the world! Contrary to ordinary conclusions after a disappearance of months, I am in fact alive. Unfortunately, I still don't own Narnia. -sadface-

Note: My style of writing cannot ever begin to compare to Lewis', as well, I am not using the language of London schoolboys so you will not see the By Joves. I hope that's okay.

* * *

Rain hitting concrete.

It's a unique sound. Relentless droplets striking an unyielding stone surface, again and again, on and on. Susan wondered at the pointlessness of it all as she stared outside, water splashing against stone...how many thousands of years would pass before slightest indent was made? Why was it that the shores of stone that made such arches over so many long, long years were so beautiful, so unyielding, so indescribably uncertain...

There were two ways to describe that afternoon. She could call it silver, or grey.

Grey seemed more appropriate. It was a more depressing word, after all.

Pressing her lips together in a worried gesture, she glanced round at her sister, who was currently curled up on her bed, sulking. She had been most offended when Susan denied the truth of her dream/premonition, but Su remained certain that it was a nightmare. Perhaps born of having had to fear for her siblings' lives a whole lot more than other children, having seen each of them bloodied and at life's edge, having had to drop that gift of revival onto gasping lips.

At least...she thought she was certain.

But she couldn't help remembering all the other times she'd refused to believe Lucy. She'd been wrong on all occasions. The wardrobe, the gorge, that night... The memories were not particularly reassuring, and if she was honest, she knew her sister was right far more often that she was. In fact she was right all the time.

On the other hand, they were in England now. Rational, logical, common-sense England, where dreams were not Aslan-sent messages. Maybe. This uncertainty was frustrating, and deep inside her, Su feared what might happen, should she ignore this "warning". If it was a warning. But it could be and uncertainty was killing her and wasn't it always better to be safe but then it might not be adn what could they do about it anyway?...

Circles. She was so tired of them. Had her whole life been just that, spirals forever? Starting and ending at exactly the same places. England, Narnia, England, Narnia.

And - and she couldn't deny the chill that had gripped her as Lucy, tear-flawed and desperate, had told of that dream.

Giving up, she turned to her sister.

"Lu!"

No answer.

"Lu...I'm sorry, all right? Write to the boys, ask them. I still don't think it's true but...it's better to be safe." She saw the light in Lucy's eyes flare immediately, saw the sweet smile return, and sighed.

* * *

_Peter, Edmund,_

_How are you? School life is boring, but thankfully safe. Have you heard from Mum yet? _-

"Susan, stop delaying and just get to the point already." Edmund looked up to see Peter's half-amused, half-worried expression. He grinned and skipped the first paragraph of inquiries and news.

_All right, I can just see you rolling your eyes at my longwindedness. Yes, Lucy, I'm done!_

Here Lucy's untidy scrawl took over from Susan's elegant script.

_I had a dream. A very bad dream. And I'm sure it's Aslan telling me something, but I can't figure out what. Su says she doesn't believe me, but she really does. I woke up in a field and saw a lily, it was, oh so beautiful! and no, don't tell me water lilies don't grow in grass, I _know _that! But then I started to run towards it, and I snatched it up and started ripping it to pieces. But I couldn't control it, I tried to stop, but I couldn't, and it was terrifying. It's so scary to not know what's going on and be doing something you don't want to be doing but can't stop. And then-_

Here Edmund broke off, clear shock and worry etched on his face.

"Ed?"

He nodded wordlessly and continued.

_The next thing was, I think, the worst. I heard a sword ensheathed and it cut my shoulder. _

_It was Rhindon._

_I don't know how I know, but I just did. Peter, I would not ever doubt that the only time you wield your sword would be to protect us, nothing more. And it scares me, that part the most, that I could-_

Edmund swallowed. Even through the written words, he could feel Lucy's distress so clearly, and it made him want to catch the next train to the girls' school and hug her.

_-ever think about it like that, even in a dream._

_Please reply soon. We miss you._

Edmund brushed his finger across a dried teardrop. Then looked up.

"Peter?" His brother met his eyes.

"Lucy...she's never lied."

"But she might be mistaken. She's upset about you not going back, and misses it all." Edmund shook his head. "Pete, don't even try."

Peter's head rose, looking like a paragon of virtue and innocence. "What?"

"Peter..."

"I'm all right, Ed. I believe her." Edmund gave him a long look, clearly not convinced. Of course they believed their sister, but Peter was more shaken by the mention of his sword than he showed, and Edmund was not about to let it go. For the moment, however, he did.

"What could it mean?"

"A lily..." Peter's forehead creased suddenly. "Susan means lily."

"Oh, no." They fell silent, contemplating the terrifying thought of Lucy hurting her sister. Not possible. No...

"Please. Not that."

"But my sword...and her crushing the flower... All it can mean is us turning on each other, much as I hate the idea. We know Lucy, Ed. She wouldn't. But what else can it be?"

They sat in silence, doing their best to ignore the ominous fear that Lucy's words had awoken.

* * *

Life is a battlefield, chase your own heart.

And sometimes that one gunshot changes everything.

That day, halfway around the globe, a gun fired and ended one life. Just one.

But for four children and one woman, it tore down their world.

* * *

I know this was short =/ and no action! But I promise, the drama will come in the next chapter. Please review!


	4. Four

Lewis' name is not mine. Neither is his creation.

* * *

Lightning.

They say it never strikes twice.

It didn't. It just struck in two places. At the same time.

_The girl opening the letter, the innocuous, normal-looking missive. Reading the sloppy scrawl and the tear-stained paper, stopping still._

_And time swirls around her, but she doesn't feel it._

_As she falls, only one word escapes her desperate lips._

_"Lucy...!"_

And it resonates in a different way.

_The boy ripping open the envelope, swiftly glancing across the contents. Freezing._

_Disbelief. Denial. Anger. Deep, sinking grief. They play across his features, suddenly so vulnerable._

_"Edmund!"_

_

* * *

_

_This is not happening._

Like a monotonous chant in her head, as if words alone could undo time and a bullet._ Please, God, Aslan, Great Lion, __no._ A silent screaming in the depths of a burning soul, but somehow the tears cannot flow. Even this last grace of grieving is denied her.

Little sister. The shaking bundle buried beside her. _Oh Lucy..._ So painfully young. 9 years old, and yet having lived a whole lifetime.

They'd grown up without parents once. Now they would do it without a father again. Her mind might not remember with absolute clarity the gentle, kindly father, but her heart did, and it was revolting within her.

_This is **not** happening._

But it was. I thought you gave up on fairytales? Because this sure isn't one.

"Miss Pevensie, you are wanted in the Headmistress' office." Susan glared at the maid delivering the message, knowing she was being unreasonable and not caring. There were only three people in the world she wanted to see right now, and the headmistress was not one of them. Finally, she stood, annoyed but resigned, dropping a kiss on Lucy's tear-stained cheek.

* * *

"Ah, Miss Pevensie." Biting her lip, Susan glanced up and wished the woman would just call her Susan. "We are very sorry for your loss, of course. If you wish to return home to be with your family, it can be arranged, perhaps for a few days. What do you say?"

_Yes._ Susan closed her eyes, feeling unbounded relief. She had a feeling her mother needed them, and the boys...she needed them.

"Oh, yes. Thank you...very much." Nodding kindly, the mistress sent her away.

_Thank you, Aslan._

_

* * *

_

Edmund hated it, absolutely hated it, when his brother called his name in just that way.

Peter could call him in a way that made him annoyed, when it was the sort of 'Ed!' which clearly expressed that he thought Edmund must have suffered a blow to the head sometime and therefore had a rather low intelligence. Or it could be the 'Little brother' which made him feel like collapsing where he stood or hugging his brother like it was the last time they would see each other. And a thousand other ways his incorrigible excuse for a brother managed to find to contort his simple name into the strangest things.

But the '_Edmund!'_ he had just heard was by far the worse.

It was the desperate, broken voice Peter very, very rarely let his siblings hear. The sort reserved for when either Edmund or himself was in grave danger, like being on the wrong end of a sword, spear, cannon, scimitar, dagger, bow, knife or anything that could cause lasting and unpleasant effects, or dying, or when something so drastic that he forgot himself occurred. Like their sisters being on the wrong end of a sword, spear, cannon, scimitar, dagger, bow, knife or anything that could cause lasting and unpleasant effects, or dying.

Right now, he had the uncomfortable feeling that since neither group could exactly feasibly be in a life-threatening situation right now, unless his sisters' extremely respectable school had decided to turn into axe-murderers, it could only be something to do with the only other two people in this world that they cared about.

Sometimes, he really hated being right.

* * *

"_Peter!"_

Lucy's keening call sounded before Susan could even get out of the train, and before she knew what was happening, her little sister had shot off towards a pair of boys standing beside the ticketing office, knocking the taller to the floor in her enthusiasm. She swiftly swept up to capture the darker, younger in a heartfelt embrace, albeit far more elegantly. The calm expressions on the boy's faces belied the almost desperate clutch that Edmund's hands gripped Susan with, and she saw the wrenching pain in Peter's eyes as he hugged his littlest sister close. But they straightened soon enough, rising to return home.

Home?

Maybe.

With composure painted on swiftly cracking masks and hearts joined together in love and grief, four royals returned to a bereft mother.

* * *

When souls which were meant to be together but were ripped apart come in harmony again, it is a thunderclap of joyous sunrise in the worlds of their eyes.

Except when such reunions are heralded by indescribable grief.

_Peter_ stood tall and straight as always, this noble commander. A figurehead of majesty and fierce love, a big brother who would never let his siblings see his grief, veiled as always in the depths of his heart. He, always the one who held Lucy as she cried, who understood that Susan could _not_ cry, who whispered 'Little brother' in Edmund's ear and watched him let go, who kissed their mother and stood as a pillar for a shattered family.

_Susan_ has a control unmatchable. Her eyes can hide the most wrenching, bitter agony. Her face shows nothing of love and hate, joy and grief. She is steady, reliable. Except that sometimes she wants to lose her control, wants to scream to the sky and let the world know, with crystal clarity, just what it has done to her. But she stares through everything with glassy focus, ever strong, ever cold.

_Edmund _is rash and stubborn and intense and loves his father with a childish fervour and an adult passion, uncontrollable as the sea-stirred monsoons, unpredictable as the ash-strewn volcanoes. One dark boy standing for justice. Perhaps it is because of this darkness that he knows the truth with frightening intimacy, perhaps it is this that drives him to emotions beyond anything his siblings could dream of. Perhaps it is for this that he despairs.

And _Lucy, _though named for the eastern seas, _is_ the southern sun, radiant and glorious and brilliant in everything that she does and is, be it light or shadow that she goes through. Under the shade of terrible sorrow that hides her innate fire, her heart burns on, a beacon of impossibly unconquerable hope in these darkest of times. It is she who stands forth before the world's darkness and contends it with her light.

* * *

That night, they spent the night in the same room, Peter slumped on the floor, Lucy curled in his arms, Susan at the window in the chair, Edmund on the bed.

Just like old times.

"I wish we got to see him again. Just once, in dreams. So I could remember his face."

"You _forgot_?" An unmistakable note of accusation lay beneath Edmund's level tone, but Susan remained unmoved.

"I did. I rue it now, but I did. Just like we forgot Mother. How could we not?"

Silence.

"Let's try to sleep, at least. You need it."

Lucy yawned, then blinked.

"I'm not sleepy."

Smiling fondly, Peter ruffled her hair gently, kissing her forehead before laying her gently beside Edmund. "Yes, you are."

Nodding, Susan got up and slipped under the covers herself. Peter hesitated.

"Ed, want some air?"

Susan looked up quickly, sensing something off with both boys. The two older siblings' eyes met for a brief moment, then broke, understanding in Susan's. Looking faintly surprised, Edmund rose and followed his brother out of the room.

* * *

Late that night, four children slept in different places.

Lucy lay spreadeagled across the bed, a frightened grimace decorating her features.

Susan sat with her head pillowed in her hand by the window, staring at the stars.

Edmund curled in the attic, one hand tightly clutching his father's photo.

Peter patrolled the rooms, alternating each one, kissing or caressing or whispering to them.

And their mother lay alone on a bed made for two, silver tear tracks illumined by moonlight.

* * *

You will get the conversation between the two boys later, don't worry ;)


	5. Midnight

I think it's rather obvious by now that I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia by now, isn't it?

Here is the next chapter =) Please review, even if to say that I am a complete idiot.

* * *

When Peter stepped into the living room after his brother, Edmund was already leaning against the cabinet, scrutiny in his dark eyes as he watched Peter.

"Can you not do that? It's unnerving."

"Do what?"

"Stare."

Edmund blinked, then the slightest hint of a grin touched his lips and he turn his gaze away.

"What is it?"

Peter remained silent, contemplative blue eyes scanning his brother. Edmund's calm facade was in position, unreadable dark eyes looking at him across the room. But he knew something was wrong with his little brother, something about him that was off. And after years of sleeping, breathing, fighting, laughing with him, he should know.

Little brother.

"Ed..." He drew closer, one hand gently ruffling Edmund's dark locks. He knew how much his brother loved their father, so fiercely, so passionately.

_He loves you more than your father. But the man's dead, Peter. _

Wordlessly, Peter enveloped his brother in a hug, pressing his hand against the coldness of Edmund's limp hands. He held the too slight frame of his little brother as he sobbed out what was left of a childhood adoration long ago. So long ago.

They'd _grown up_ without parents. Peter had taught Edmund to shave, not his father. Susan had guided Lucy through the puzzling process of growing up, not their mother. And no one had been there for the two older siblings. But that had been a different lifetime. A different place.

They loved their parents. No doubt of that.

"Did you forget?" Edmund's voice was soft, balancing tears. Susan's words had struck him hard. For though the image of father and mother had blurred and faded over the Narnian years, he'd never forgotten. A father's touch, a mother's kiss...

"Not completely. I forgot how they looked. And when we saw Mum again, the first time, it was like...like...a stranger. A stranger that you recognised. A dream of a dream..."

"Yes..." Edmund's breath was warm on Peter's bare, cold skin. "But Dad?"

Peter was silent.

"I forgot him."

"How can you forget one and not the other?"

Peter paused uncomfortably. "I don't know. I can't explain it. Susan would understand better, I guess."

"She forgot _both._" Edmund's voice was cold, but Peter shook his head. "No, Ed. You can't blame her. You know Su and I tried to be...to be Mother and Father to you and Lu, and somehow, on the way, I forgot who I was trying to imitate. We were living in the moment, revelling in Narnian sunshine, forgetting the cold dark grey war-torn England, and-"

"And when Lucy cried at night because she missed Mum's goodnight kisses? How long before either of you noticed, so caught up in _forgetting_?"

"Ed, we knew."

Surprised, Edmund fell silent.

"We knew. And Su kissed her goodnight, every night, for years, until they'd both forgotten who it was who showed them how. And I..." Peter trailed off, pain evident in his face and voice. "I tried," he ended in a whisper, pressing Edmund's hands. "I tried."

Guilt tinged his brother's brow. "I'm sorry. I know. We all did. I'm just...just tired." A small smile graced his face. "You know you did an incredible job, Pete. Always did. Even before I recognised it."

A wistful smile touched Peter's lips. "You were just a hurt little boy. And I wasn't so great at dealing with you, either."

"I was impossible."

"And still are." Edmund yelped indignantly, and Peter laughed. "All right, go to sleep now."

Edmund rose and without a word, as per Narnian custom, kissed his brother's forehead.

Peter watched his little brother leave, regret painting his features.

"Impossible," he murmured, and smiled.

* * *

Edmund stumbled into the dark attic. Dust kissed his face everywhere he turned, and his vain attempts at brushing away cobwebs failed miserably.

"Come on..." A hoarse whisper, and he rummaged through the stacked up old toys and books, and overflow of memories. Little Lucy, holding up a colouring book, radiant and happy on her fifth birthday, himself viciously crushing her treasured crayons, her tears...guilt once more took his heart at the memory of the boy he had been. Susan...the two dark siblings used to be closer when they were younger, all the days spent playing around the house, exploring the darkness of the rooms, reading, quizzing each other, laughing. Then Susan grew up and he grew away and everything fell apart.

Peter.

He touched a toy train tenderly, remembering. He used to worship his brother, when they were toddlers. Peter, brave protector. Big brother. Before the sweet little child turned into a resentful, seething mass of hate and fear and jealousy, before the father went away and the mother broke and the children grew up.

And then Narnia.

And Edmund, last of the four had grown up. Learnt the meaning of love and redemption, almost died for his siblings, been saved by the blood of a lion. How many times had Peter bled for him? How many times that guilt had struck him so hard knowing that one day his brother would die for him and there was nothing he could do about it? Years of fighting back to back, side to side, each striving to protect the other. The fourth year of their reign, when Peter had taken a spear thrust for him. Edmund would never forget the vigil he'd kept, nearly one day, praying to Aslan, waiting for Lucy and her life-saving cordial to arrive. The number of times his heart had nearly stopped when Peter's breaths failed.

Pain and love. He loved Narnia, loved the land and the creatures and the very air with a lit passion, but he loved his brother more. Peter kept Narnia safe, but he kept Peter safe. It was the order of things. Right. Familiar.

He knew how it hurt his brother when he must choose duty over his siblings. Because Peter's first duty was to Narnia, and whether he liked it or not, he must put it above all else.

Even the three he loved more than life itself.

Finally, Edmund's groping hand found it's goal, and he drew a hand across smooth glass.

By starlight he sat at the attic window, slowly tracing the face on the photo. It was one he'd cherished through the days of war when he'd often hidden, sulking and furious and scared, here in this dark room to brood. He'd stare unendingly at the kind face, and stoically keep back the tears that threatened to wash the frame with salt water.

He fell asleep, one hand covering his father's face as if to finally remove him from his life. Forever.

* * *

Peter was in the girls' room, a silent statue in the doorway as he watched his sisters. Somehow, with the moonlight lighting the sunken shadows in Susan's face, she looked at once so much younger and older than she was. A little girl with the eyes of an old woman. And so beautiful. Peter almost smiled as he remembered the trouble they'd had with persistent suitors back there, all determined to get the exquisitely lovely Gentle Queen as their own.

A frown touched his face. It was one of the few things all of them had disliked about Narnia, the overbearing dominance of men. The first few suitors who attempted to buy or trade for either girl, however, had soon found themselves on the wrong end of an extremely sharp sword wielded by either an irate brother or the offended girl herself. Leaning over, with a practiced hand which knew how to touch a sleeping sibling without waking them, he brushed her hair back and lightly kissed her forehead. Susan would have a hard time here, he knew. He could see the signs already. She was becoming increasingly withdrawn, reticent and unwilling to talk much about Narnia and most of all, avoiding mention of Aslan.

He feared for her, but would worry about it later.

For now, he moved to his youngest sister's bedside.

Lucy...

There was no doubt of this one's age. Such a little girl. A sweet smile painted her lips in sleep, and an answering smile appeared on her brother's face. Lucy. The Valiant. The faithful. Love for her had always been the simplest. Susan he loved as an equal, a companion, a sister he could turn to for guidance sometimes. Edmund as a brother, in arms and in heart, their bond intermingled with blood and tears and betrayal and a love that could overcome all of it. But Lucy's spirit was so pure, her love purified him too, awaking a desperately protective warmth in his heart and he _loved her so much._

When he trod the creaking steps up to the attic, it was with some trepidation and doubt. Edmund.

But when he saw his brother slumped against an old shelf with one hand pressed against a photo, his doubts crumbled. Edmund looked so vulnerable, for one moment all he wanted was to keep him safe forever, but this was reality and it was painfully impossible.

If only.

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Please review. ^^


	6. In Bitter Rain

Nope, no genius here. No copyright owner, either. -sadface-

This is an astonishingly quick update, considering my normal routine. :) I am astonished at myself!

* * *

"Good morning, Mother,"

"Good morning," The children echoed in murmurs, and Helen Pevensie took her seat at the head of the table, doing her best not to look at the chair opposite her.

It would be empty forever.

But her children were home, and it was not the time or place for grieving, not now. She must be strong, must be what father had been to them, a rock to lean on and a solidly unchangeable person in this swiftly moving world. They would not be hurt further, she swore. They were _her children _and she would keep them safe. Protected. She must.

"Mother, are you all right?" Peter's words were gentle and concerned, and she grimaced inwardly, disgusted with herself. _Your first try certainly didn't go well,_ she thought bitterly, but smiled as brightly as she could at the four regarding her quietly.

"Of course, Peter. Thank you. Would you like some milk?" Desperately, she struggled for some semblance of normalcy, to go back to a day-to-day lifestyle and banter, but the children were strangely silent, occasionally glancing at each other with gazes loaded with meaning.

But she could not understand.

Confused, and slightly hurt, she broke up one such telepathic conversation between Peter and Susan, with a rather forced smile.

"So, when are your schools expecting you back?"

"We only have a few days," Susan replied. "At least, we girls do. I think we're supposed to be back by Thursday."

Helen's face fell. "Such a short time! Couldn't you stay the week-end?"

"I don't think so, Mother. We must be back for the exams." To her disappointment, Susan's face remained neutral, as if the prospect of leaving home again didn't affect her in the slightest. Peter, however, had the grace to look a little reluctant as he echoed her words.

But she could tell he was acting. Hurt, she merely nodded, before rising. "Well, I have to work today. You children can amuse yourselves at home. Peter and Susan, look after them. Goodbye, children." She turned to leave, deciding she did not want to deal with the temper that Edmund was probably brewing right now at the thought of being looked after by Peter.

Behind her back, the children looked at each other, guilt in their eyes. By some unspoken agreement, Susan rose.

"Mother..."

Helen paused, then turned, with a smile. "Susan?"

A beat. Then her oldest daughter embraced her, kissing her warmly on the cheek. "We missed you, Mother," she whispered, and it was enough.

A true smile broke through Helen's coldness, and she hugged her daughter back, before opening her arms to her other children. "We love you," accompanied Peter's embrace, a slightly choked "I'm sorry," from Edmund, and Lucy, her little Lucy, just hugged her tight and whispered, "Mum," in her ear.

* * *

"This is not good."

Peter struck an impressive figure against the sunlight-bathed windows, and the gravity in his tone quelled whatever desire to tease him about it that might have risen in his sibling's minds.

"How so?"

Peter gave Edmund a look which clearly conveyed his opinion of Edmund's mental level. "One meal, Ed. We had one meal with her and managed to act completely strangely, hurt her in the process and just barely save ourselves by _acting._" Peter turned sharply away. "What are we if we need to act to hug our own mother?" He questioned more quietly, sorrow colouring his voice.

Silence fell.

"I wasn't acting," Lucy's voice was unsure, but stubbornly strong. Peter looked at her sadly.

"You weren't, but we were, Lu. Anyone knows Su does not hug people like that. And-"

"Anyone but our mother, you mean." Susan's tone was collected. "She was so happy, Pete. So happy after we totally shut her out at the table. I don't blame her for wanting to leave."

Edmund sprawled on the lounge chair, stretching long legs. "What can we do? We were trying. But it's just...so hard. It was better at school, at least we could ignore the others without guilt. But Mum..." He frowned slightly. "We grew up without her. She wasn't there. It wasn't her fault, of course not, but she wasn't there. Not when we almost died, or laughed or cried or got hurt or healed. How do we reconcile with that? To me and Lu you two are more our parents than Mum or- Dad- " Edmund's voice broke slightly, but he pressed on. "We can't go back to being scared children, needing her so much, so dependent. We've ruled a country. We are not children."

"In this world, we are." Susan replied softly. "Or at least, will be seen as such. And you said it, Ed, it wasn't her fault. We are not the same children she loved and nurtured and watched grow. But can't we at least act like them? She deserves that. Not to be faced by a lot of strangers in her children's bodies."

"But it's not the truth. And we aren't very good at acting, you know." Lucy looked up seriously. "We'll never fool her."

"We have to try! At least..."

"We can't, Su! Accept it! We're different and we can't go back to the way we were. Not ever. No matter how much we want to give her back the children she lost." Edmund's logic was, as always and unfortunately, sound. This did not mean his sisters liked it at all, but they were forced to admit that, as usual, he was right.

"Peter?" They all turned to look at their oldest brother, who was strangely silent as he regarded them. Edmund placed a hand on his arm, concern in his face. "What do you think?"

Peter said nothing for a few moments, and when he spoke, it was in a faltering tone they had not often heard from the High King.

"Is it wrong that I feel no grief for _my father_?" Susan closed her eyes, as if the question was one she had asked herself painfully. Edmund's lips parted, shock and sadness in his face. Lucy merely looked at her oldest brother, as he bowed his head in silent sorrow.

"You don't _care _that he died?"

"Of course I care! No, Ed, I wish with all my heart that he had not died, but in the same way I wish all the men on the field did not have to die in this tragedy called war. I would not wish death upon anyone. But he I grieve for no more than the next soldier, though-"

"He is our father. No matter what! How could you- " Edmund's face hardened suddenly. "...forget?" He finished quietly, before he swung round and rushed from the room, impetuous grief taking over. Peter watched him go, unmoving, as Lucy took her brother's hand.

"I don't either," she whispered, and the guilt of that was written on her face. "I wish I did! But I can't lie."

Susan nodded, looking down. "Should we go after him?"

Peter shook his head. "Let him calm down. He'll find us later." Lucy bit her lip. "Peter?" She murmured, an instinct to seek comfort in her big brother's arms driving her to his embrace.

"I miss it." Her soft voice sounded so broken that Peter, despite his desperate search for appropriate words of comfort, could only hold her closer.

* * *

Edmund gripped wet bark with all his might, ignoring the biting pain of the roughness scratching his skin. He knew it was not very practical or safe to stand under a tree in this storm, but at the moment he couldn't care less.

He knew he shouldn't have said that, shouldn't have lost his temper, shouldn't have used that accusing tone on his brother and-

He jerked upright suddenly. What had he done?

If he knew Peter at all, the idiot was probably blaming himself for everything right now, from his temper to his memory to everything that Edmund had said.

_What had he done?_

Edmund buried his head in his hands, horrified. Shouldn't fifteen years of ruling a country have taught him to control himself, at least? Hadn't fifteen years of living with this infuriatingly self-blaming being he called brother let him know Peter better than any in either world? He closed his eyes and felt the rain slide down his cheeks, disgusted with himself. If he was honest with himself, Peter couldn't be blamed for that and what had Edmund done but punish him for being honest with the cruelest words? He knew his brother, knew him, and he would take his words as truth and-

_What had he done?_

Grief was no excuse for rage.

_What had he done?_

His sisters would be less than impressed with him too, and he couldn't blame them. Susan had looked as if she had exactly the same feelings, and Lucy- Lucy should never have heard that, _what had he done_, why had he said that, stormed out like some spoilt child?

Sometimes the little boy of long ago resurfaced, and much as Edmund hated it, he knew it was a part of him. A part of him that simply couldn't keep his temper, a part that had made several people back in Narnia back away rather hurriedly when his siblings were threatened.

A dark smile worked its way across his face. Not many dared to stand forth before Edmund the Just when they knew that it would be perfectly just to kill them there and then. And those that had had regretted it sorely in their last moments.

When Edmund was angry, truly angry, he did not explode, but his power was the pulsing threat of a bomb that could detonate at any second, the dark promise of something far worse than death, a whirlwind contained in one furious king.

But he had not been angry back then, he had been hurt and scared and bitter.

_What had he done?_

_

* * *

_

I really don't enjoy torturing the characters. Really.

Please review! =)


	7. Blood

Hello! 8D So, the next update is here ;) It's not exactly very...logical. In fact, I admit now that I have absolutely no idea what is going on! Okay I do, but it's a vague, un-fleshed-out thing floating around in that place I call my mind, so the conclusion will be here soon, but it might not be very...good. This is my first attempt at something that is more than one chapter, and it's probably going to be very short for a multi-chapter, maybe 8-9 chapters? Anyway, I acknowledge here and now that it may very well be absolutely disgraceful, but I'm gonna finish this! (:

* * *

Early in the morning, a red radiance glared below his closed eyelids and shocked him into awareness, as outside, the sun rose and the rain of yesterday was replaced with warm sunlight illuminating his room.

He stretched, then took in the room at a glance, and stiffened, biting his lip. The bed opposite his was empty, and had not been slept in- unless his younger brother had somehow managed to mimic their mother's bed-making style to the slightly ruffled sheets right at the right hand corner of the mattress, which was highly unlikely. All things said and thought over, this was bad. It meant, at best, that Edmund had spent the night curled in some far corner of the house, or at worse, that he'd slept outside by the tree he'd been at yesterday, when Peter watched him from the window.

He shook his head, muttering a few choice curses under his breath that would have shocked his mother, he rose to search for his wayward little brother, feeling very much as if he would like to either hug him or kill him. Both choices looked rather desirable right now, but were slightly contradictory, although he supposed he could always hug the corpse...

Pulling himself from his morbid thoughts, he entered the living room, frowning when Edmund was not in sight from the lounge windows. _Wonderful._ The urge to kill him had just grown considerably.

The fresh smell of morning permeated the garden, and he smiled slightly. The grass was wet with dew and rain left over from yesterday, and the sky grey and overcast. He stepped carefully over the twisted roots of a few trees, blinking as branches draped leaves in his face, grinning as wetness touched his cheek. He'd always loved morning, even before Narnia, and that had only intensified it.

Aslan had come with morning.

Or at least that was how it had always seemed to him, that one time when the lion had crested the horizon just as the sun did, a magnificent silhouette against a brilliant sun. It was the one image forever fixed in his head, that of the lion and the sun, and he associated them with each other after that. Aslan, sunrise, dawn, morning...

His preference for morning, however, did not mean he enjoyed taking impromptu walks through the garden in search of a little brother, especially when said little brother was probably wallowing in guilt and self-pity and had spent the whole night outside, he decided with a frown.

His mood did not improve in the slightest when his brother was nowhere to be found in the gardens.

He supposed it was better if Edmund had spent the night inside, but it didn't ring true to him. Edmund, usually, hadn't the slightest bit of common sense and the risk of getting sick from staying outside wouldn't have occurred to him at all, probably.

Still, it could always be that a once-in-a-millenia happenstance had occurred.

So he turned to search for his brother in the house, doing his utmost best to ignore the tinge of unease residing in his heart.

* * *

Lucy jerked awake, her throat hurting from an extended and shrill scream, her mouth full of pillow.

Coming back to herself, she turned to lie on her back, gasping. The pillow had muffled her shrieks- for that was what they were- but her heart was thundering in her ears and the fear that encompassed the elusive dream now appeared to have switched its victim to her, and it took her a while to realise the reason why her hands hurt so much was that she had clenched her fist so tight her nails brutally bit into her palm.

Stifling a hoarse moan, she carefully unclenched her hands, wincing.

She stared up at the beige ceiling, silently counting the peeling places, willing herself to calm down, calm down, calmdown _calmdown **calmdown**_-

A strangled, inarticulate, utterly terrified noise escaped her lips, and a whimper soon followed. Deciding that she couldn't care less if her palms did hurt, she clenched her fists again, very close to screaming.

If it was going to take three times to remember the dream again, she _was_ going to scream. Loudly.

She shut her eyes, revelling in the darkness. Darkness, it was empty, water, so much water _can't breathe_ drowning_ Oh Aslan _fear terror scream _scream_ nothing left _screamscreamscream-_

Her breath caught in her throat, and she rolled over, sudden nausea overtaking. _Aslan-_

What was going on?

So her nightmare had happened only a few nights before they got the news, but that did not mean- could not mean- _Lucy, you idiot, you told Su it was a message, she listened, but you didn't._

There wasn't actually anything she could have done, but still, she should have thought harder, prayed harder, wished harder, if only, _Lucy he sent it for a reason,_ what were you thinking?

She tasted salt on her lips, and found herself wondering whether it was tears or blood. She'd certainly bit down hard enough. And the tears, the tears. _I'm scared._ Be brave, be brave, think. _Think._ What was it about? _Think!_ She struggled to concentrate, to somehow summon the dream back from the shadowy mists into which it had disappeared, trying with all her might to remember, you must remember...

It was not so much a realisation as a revelation, as if divine interference had granted her one boon, one memory, and it was enough. She still could not remember the dream in its entirety, but it did not matter to her in the slightest.

Her brother, _her brother_, drowning,_ scream_, scaredscaredscared_ lucy! lucylucy- susan_susan!_- peterpeterpeter- _what? what, whatwhatwhat_what?_ Aslan...!

_Edmund! _The name formed on her lips even as she leapt from her bed, frenzied and fearful, desperate, _you must do something, Lucy..._

_

* * *

_He was, Peter decided grimly, an extremely optimistic person, really. The glass of water was half full, the donut not the hole, but this was honestly stretching patience and optimism to their limits.

Edmund was nowhere to be found.

Peter knew his brother was a thick-headed, annoying, infuriating, senseless idiot, but not even he would leave the house at night, alone, to go wandering off wherever was his wont, no matter how emotionally unstable he was at that moment.

Would he?

You idiot, he told himself in no uncertain terms, disgusted with himself. He should have stayed up till Edmund came in, he should have gone looking for him yesterday, he should _not_ have gone to sleep so calmly when his little brother was somewhere outside, scared and maybe hurt and-

And, Peter reminded himself sternly, he couldn't help anyone if he descended into mindless guilt or self-recrimination now.

Where would he have gone?

Water. Edmund loved the sea. But they were miles from it! And no, not even the stupid, staying-out-for-a-whole-night, leaving-house-alone-at-night Edmund was quite stupid enough to somehow get miles away simply to satisfy an urge. No, no, no, please Aslan no.

All right, since the sea was not exactly within his reach, where else could he go? There were rivers, quite a few in fact, but surely...why would he go there?

And suddenly he knew.

Maybe he was a genius. Maybe Aslan had taken pity on him and sent him sudden inspiration his way, or maybe he was just going insane, but that was not an option he wanted to consider right now. There was a canal, small and insignificant, not even marked on maps, a short walk from here.

They used to play there as children in the summer, laughter ringing, water splashing at each other, _a tall man standing against the sunlight, laughing, lifting a little boy over his head before dunking him unceremoniously in the water, shrieks of indignation, more laughter. _Playing...

Oh yes, Edmund had always liked a certain kind of irony when he went somewhere to brood. He preferred choosing a nice happy place.

But why there? Why now?

In fact, why would he leave the house in the first place, no matter how desperate he was? Edmund might be stubborn and not exactly terribly concerned over his health, but he was not irresponsible. And going out at night, alone, was that. Definitely. After saying such things, which he was undoubtedly blaming himself for right now, he would not have risked hurting his siblings all over again, not to mention their mother.

Oh Great Lion, their mother.

If she woke up to find both sons gone, she would freak out. Go frantic. Probably call the police or something.

On the other hand, it was hardly going to be better if her eldest woke her with the news that her other son was missing. What should he do? What was there to do anyway?

He would not hurt or worry her like that, _not again_, but he must find Edmund or he would go crazy. He honestly would. If there was one thing Peter could not stand it was his siblings getting hurt, especially when he was not with them and_ especially_ when he could do nothing. But he could do something, he could, but if he did their mother would be so scared and...

Making his decision, he swiftly grabbed a pen and paper, scribbling something about the two boys going out for a walk.

Oh yes, he thought with an inward snort, the drab, grey morning roads of England were so _beautiful_ and their need for exercise so _desperate _that they felt the need to go for a walk. At 6 in the morning. What a convincing lie, Peter.

But it was the best he could do, and he spun round to run out of the house, dropping the note on the tea table before sprinting out.

* * *

Please review! (: I supposed you've seen enough begging from authors to know what I'm probably gonna say, so I shall not type it out. But (and I repeat myself) please review =D


	8. Give Me Strength

Here is the new chapter! =) Please review (:

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_Aslan, give me strength_, she begged in her heart, and nearly tore her clothes in her effort to get into them, terror still pounding hard in her heart, blood rushing in her ears, obstructing her vision, _blood_, mine, my own, _fear like nothing else _blood_ No!_

_Lucy, _she berated herself desperately. You cannot break down, you must not break down, not now, not now, oh Aslan, help me! help us, help my brother, what is going on?

A shirt was chosen at random from the pile in her cupboard (she could not call it a wardrobe, not now, not when the memories were so close and the ache so familiar) and she pulled it on, hardly aware of what she was doing. Panic had her, in the relentless grasp of a python, and it would not let her go. But she must master herself, must calm down, must _think_, or she would be of no use. And she _would not _let this happen to one that she loved _again_, when she knew of it and could prevent it. She would not.

This time, she would do something. She would change it. There must be a reason she dreamed like this, there must be, He would not torment her without good cause! She could save Edmund, could save him, and she would not let him go!

Breathe, Lucy. Breathe. Think.

She could not simply rush out and run and run and run, much as she wanted to, just simply _run_ and feel the wind and the rain and run and run and _run_ and outrun the dream and leave everything behind, the fear and love and pain...

_No._

She would not run. She would stand, and she would fight, because she was the Valiant Queen, no matter what England said about the matter.

_And to the glistening Eastern seas, I give you, Queen Lucy, the Valiant..._

_Help me to live up to that name, _she prayed, and with every breath she echoed the prayer, with her heart and soul and mind, _ help me to be brave, be strong, be valiant._

She must think. Where could Edmund be?

She forced herself to calm, to breathe. Think. After he had run out yesterday, he had not come back in. They had watched him from a window, curled under a tree, but he was not there now._ Water. Blackness. I can't _breathe-! _screams-_

Calm. Calm, Lucy. Water. Where would he find water? A river, a canal? Think, Lucy...

But she was beyond thinking, and the fear her nightmare had wrought into her was steadily growing, along with a desperate sense of urgency.

_Time is running out...save him, Lucy! Find him!_

A moan escaped her lips, and she raced to Peter's room, instinctively seeking help from the one she had always turned to, who had never failed her before. Even before Narnia, Peter had been the protector that Lucy looked to, before everything, when they were just a big brother and a little sister...

And in Narnia, the countless times he threw himself before them, still shielding his siblings from everything, from hurt and pain and grief and the blades that wanted to quench their lives forever and the sorrow that shades everything in every world...

But he was not there.

* * *

_Aslan, give me strength,_ he prayed, unconsciously echoing his sister's heartfelt words as he sprinted down the streets of London, grey with morning, night still hanging lightly over the mists that floated annoyingly in front of his eyes.

England presented a sad sight, the gloom of the fog and the leftover of midnight still colouring everything in dark colours. Trees dripped rainwater on every unfortunate passer-by, and the ornamented curliques in the doorways he saw were rusted and reeked of abandonment. He was entering a poorer part of London, though God knew everywhere was ravaged by the war now...but here it was darker and quieter and somehow sadder, and the sight rent his heart.

Long ago, two boys and a girl had run through this street, their high, clear laughter ringing out- Lucy had not been born yet- they had run and played and laughed, and all the while the poor were starving and dying and watching the children of more fortunate parents play.

How was that like? He wondered momentarily, chilled. How did it feel to watch a child play as you died?

Not now, Peter, not now. Now you worry for your brother.

Oh, Ed.

His brother...who had stood by him, betrayed him, fought with him, laughed at him, cried for him, clasped his hands, looked to his protection...loved him. Edmund the Just, the darkness and the light, the justice of Narnia. The light of hope for those who had fallen, the promise of redemption by the grace of a lion, the bane of righteousness for those who were unrepentant...Edmund. Friend. Beloved. Judge. Traitor. Redeemed. _Brother_.

Or more accurately, _little_ brother. How could he have let him go? He had failed him, had failed to protect him and keep him safe and now who knew where he was and how he was...

Peter gritted his teeth, and stepped up his pace, a silent streak across the cobbled path. How he knew the way, he could not fathom. They had not been here since before the war...happier times. Or maybe not, depending on how you looked at it.

Narnia. For them, as well as for the Narnians who remembered them even in the dark times of Caspian- Peter smiled at the thought of the boy-king, he would be a noble man- it had been a Golden Age. Happiness.

They had not been removed from pain or grief, of course not! Pain was ever-present, whether by the blade or the heart. Grief...how does a king not grieve when people must die for him, good, true, kind creatures who have so much life in them, and yet choose to lay down these lives for them, for the country?

How do you run from the guilt of living when so many have died?

But all the same, it had been a joyous time. Aslan had felt so close there, a physical reality, not a dream or a wish, but _real_, a lion who would come to their aid when they needed it so sorely.

But England?

England was different. England was grey. England was drab. England was sensible and quiet and down-to-earth, and how they'd missed the glory of times gone by!

_Peter!_ He pulled his attention back to the present, annoyed with himself. He was nearly there, just a turn down the road and...

He emerged from the alley, panting slightly, and fell forward, tripping over some stone, caught himself against a railing, then stepped forward to round the corner.

* * *

Lucy was running, running, cursing herself for the loss of control, and at the same time not caring, not in the least, because this was something she felt in her heart and it was telling her to run, run, _run._

England slipped by her sides, England, Narnia, their home, their house, a battlefield, the crimson of blood, the gold of a lion, and the sun rises, and she is running running running, through everything, everything she's known and will know, _a little child with her eyes and another's hair, could it be that one day...? and then an echoing cry and blood, her blood, flows past and she slips in it, and she screams, she screams-_

_"Courage, dear heart." But she's so scared and everything, everything is leaving her and she's lying there crying in her blood but the emptiness that resides in her will not be denied and slowly it is all gone..._

She opened her eyes to frantic blue ones searching hers, fear in her big brother's face.

"Peter?"

* * *

Blood.

Oh Aslan, there's blood! By the Lion, what on earth is going on?

This can't be, this can't be.

Blood...

Susan rushed to Lucy's bed, touching the blood that her palms had left on the sheets, and her heartbeat escalated. Lucy...!

Where was her sister? How could this be?

She's woken to the sound of a door slamming, had lazed there for a while, not believing anything was amiss...and then realised her sister was gone, her bed messy, her cupboard overturned, the sheets bloody. What could have...? Where was Lucy...?

She leapt up, suddenly loth to be still. Pacing, she thought.

All right, maybe the door was Lucy. Leaving the house, alone, so early...stupid. Very stupid. Lucy was not stupid. So there must be a reason, a very good reason behind her recklessness, a reason for the blood, there must be. What could it be? What would scare Lucy so badly that she would throw caution away and run from the house?

Their brothers.

Susan flew from room to room, but her brothers...

Gone. As well. She shut her eyes.

This is not happening. It can't be.

But it is.

Drawing a deep breath, she checked on their parents, before running from the room to the living room.

A note.

She nearly laughed as she read it, but it would be more hysterics than true amusement, and she could not succumb to that now. But the lie was so blatantly obvious, it was really quite ridiculous. Surely Peter could come up with better. Her brother was smarter than this.

Unless he was desperate.

Fear flooded her senses, warnings flashing as clearly as if big bright red signs had suddenly materialised saying DANGER.

_Dear Mum, Ed and I have gone for an early walk, he needed some fresh air. Remember those we used to take when we were small? We'll be back soon. Peter._

When we were small.

Edmund. Water.

_Oh Aslan. The canal._

Because Susan, the reliable, sensible, matter-of-fact one, had read the newspapers deposited regularly at their doorstep, and she knew it had been bricked up, was being worked on right now to build something new.

If all three of them were desperate enough, they wouldn't...they wouldn't...

They guarded the memories of their childhood closely, carefully. And if this drove them off the edge...

The Kings and Queens of Narnia's Golden Age did not need weapons to fight. Or to die.

_Aslan..._

_

* * *

_Susan stumbled up, gasping, panting, shaking, just as Peter lifted Lucy gently off the ground, wiping the blood from a gash on her cheek, pale and strained and strangely ethereal in the morning light. He was favouring one foot as he stepped towards her, eyes wide.

Then all three walked forward, and suddenly all was still.

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Please, please, please review! (:


	9. Chill

Okay, the next chapter! Now, this has really gone very far astray from the original intended plot- a gentle h/c story of the aftermath of their father's death. What it has morphed into... I myself am not really sure. Anyway, I've certainly learnt a lesson from this- next time, plan out a proper plot before beginning! So, all things considered, this chapter is quite weird. More will be explained in the next chapter, but this is more of an action scene. Also, unlike other chapters, this is in present tense- it's kind of the climax, so I chose that. the next chapter will be back to past tense. Please tell me what you think when you're done (:

* * *

The Narnians still remember the Golden Age. It was perfection, they say. It was a beautiful, joyous time of growth and victory. Their Kings conquered the enemies, drove out the invaders, rode home with spears glinting in the sunlight and flags flying high in the breeze, while their Queens, the jewels of Narnia, stayed, to guard those who were left behind in the stronghold of Cair Paravel, the pearl of the East, glittering before the sea that led towards the uttermost East.

But the Cair fell, the storytellers say, and their eyes wet and their faces cast down. Their voices grow soft, and sad, and they tell of the ruin that Narnia became, the tyranny of the Telmarines, and the gradually lessening resistance of the true Narnians, who slowly dropped out of life and memory and went into hiding, awaiting the day that Aslan would return.

And He did! Their tones turn flutelike and joyful, and they tell of the salvation of Narnia. The monarchs of the Golden Age returned, they call out, and the listeners gasp in wonder. They came back, with swords and hearts ready to lay down for their beloved country, and they delivered Narnia when sorely she needed it, with the help, of course, of the Great Lion.

The Lion! The children's eyes grow large with fascination when they speak of Him. Very few now live who have seen him, they murmur, now that King Caspian the Seafarer has left these shores. A shadow falls across their brows, as they recall the absence of their Prince, their Prince who would be King, but who has disappeared.

Then they return to the story, and they tell of how, after it all, the four Kings and Queens left Narnia once again, their work completed, two of them never to return. Then a few years later, King Caspian returned from the quest for the seven lords, sorrow in his eyes, and said that the younger King and Queen would not return, either. The Golden Age was well and truly over. The Four had left Narnia behind.

But the Narnians remember them. They sing of them, and they murmur their names late at night when the silent menace of midnight threatens, and they tell their stories and again and again, they whisper the words that Aslan himself told the Magnificent, the Gentle, the Just and the Valiant.

_Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen._

_

* * *

_

"Be my King."

"No."

"I can give you anything."

"No."

"Come back to Narnia, child. You want to, don't you?"

"Yes... No."

"He won't ever let you, Edmund. Come with me."

"No."

"You know you want to come back."

"No."

"You dream about it, Edmund. The blood and conquest of those years in Narnian sunshine. You know you do."

"No."

"Come, boy. Perhaps I was too harsh. Bring your brother and sisters..."

"No."

"I can give you what you want. What you want more than even you know."

"No."

* * *

_"Edmund?" A broad, kindly smile on the strong face of his father. He giggles, and lifts up the toy train on the display shelf. It lights up, flashing blues and reds and blasting exciting-sounding alarm sounds._

_"I want." The man laughs. "Please?" The doe-eyed little boy looks up at him with all the innocent hope he can muster. It always undos him. Most disgraceful, he thinks to himself, grinning slightly. He is a respected member of the community, a competent and skilled carpenter, and all it takes is one sweet look from a five-year-old boy to make him cave. _

_They stand in a toyshop, the sunlight gleaming through the rainbow-enchanted prisms that swing lightly in the breeze, hanging from the door posts, catching the sun. A father and a son celebrating the spring, and the brother's birthday. His older boy is a spring baby through and through, the man thinks with a proud smile. Tall and fair and almost always cheerful, as if the hope unlooked for that spring has always brought him springs evergreen in that one's heart._

_But it is this enigmatic, unsteady child that is special to him. Edmund was born into a November storm, and that seems to set the stage for his life. He is a little thunderstorm, precocious and often sullen, but on rare, precious occasions, a beautiful, ingenious child. Edmund is clever. There is shrewd knowledge in those eyes that seem to see everything, and though he is only five, it scares his father sometimes. Temperamental, brilliant boy..._

_"We're here to get something for Peter, little man. Another time, all right?" A pout forms itself on the little boy's lips. _

_"It's not fair." The man hesitates, wondering whether the boy is old enough to here this. He leans in close._

_"Life seldom is."_

_

* * *

_"You can see your father again."

"No."

"You want to."

"Yes."

"I can give that to you."

"No."

"You know my power, Edmund."

"No."

"How do you know?"

"No."

"So stubborn. One bitten, twice shy, I suppose? Well, little king, I have time."

"No."

"Now come, Edmund. Your siblings would rule with you, you know."

"No."

"I didn't realise it was better for you to be together last time..."

"No."

"It will be better now."

"No."

* * *

_The field is spread out before him, the land so huge it takes his breath away, the sky so vast he stands amazed. Row after row of soldiers stand, shoulder to shoulder and with all the determination of the hopeless burning in their eyes. The gryphons fly, their great wings beating the air as they swoop gracefully across the enemy, and his heart cries out with each arrow that finds its mark, with each screech of pain and fear as the captains of the sky fall, one by one._

_I'm scared._

_It is thousands against hundreds, and he doesn't even want to think about the odds. Especially not when one of their foes carries a weapon that will defeat with just one stroke. Freezing life. Petrifying flesh. Halting heartbeats. The White Witch..._

_She rides at the forefront of their troops, ice in her gaze and frost in her face. He shrinks back, abject terror creeping in._

_"For Narnia!" His brother stands at the head of their army, clad in armour and wielding the sword that he was gifted with, the sword with which the sentence was placed on him: Deliver Narnia. Give Christmas and Spring back to all the little children who have never known it. Save us. "And for Aslan!" The great battlecry is uplifted by their voices, strong and pulsing, a great challenge that rings out as hundreds of steel blades are drawn._

_They cannot win this fight, he thinks._

_Does it matter?_

_

* * *

_"I grow weary of you."

"No."

"It matters not. You will bend."

"No."

"Don't be foolish."

"No."

"Say not the lies that lion has fed you."

"No."

"Follow me instead."

"No."

"I am greater."

"No."

* * *

_"For Aslan!" It is their trademark battlecry now, a shout to rally and fight for the One. Edmund stands by his High King, and lifts his sword, waiting for the order._

_The Telmarines march in ordered rows, tens of hundreds of thousands of them, grinding the Narnian earth beneath their feet as they stamp. Their metal armours flash in the sun, their swords shine sharp and deadly. Sopespian, traitor, rides at their head, triumph already written on his face. He does not doubt the outcome of this battle._

_But Edmund the Just will not let him take it so easily. Miraz has the blood of his brother on his hands, and since that pathetic excuse for a king is dead, he shifts his fury to the next contender: Miraz's assassinator, his general, the new leader. His mouth forms a vengeful smile. Oh, he will enjoy this. The Telmarines should have known better than to touch the High King of Narnia, for Justice rides by his side._

_He reaches out, clasping Peter's hand. They will ride into this as one, brothers and kings of a long-lost glory. _

_Aslan's How lies behind them, the Stone Table. Redemption. This is not the place to fight a Narnian, he thinks, and a smile plays at his lips. Not with the strengthening reminder of Aslan's sacrifice and might right behind them. Long ago, before all this, there was a betrayed traitor who was saved. Now there is a Just King. And they will regret every tree that they cut down, every Narnian that they killed, every minute that the essence of Narnia was suffocated._

_They cannot win this fight._

_It matters._

_

* * *

_"Edmund."

"No."

"Give up."

"No..."

"You lost."

Silence.

"I won."

Silence.

"You." They look up.

"Did." The voice of a Queen.

"Not." A breath of Magnificence.

"Win." The faith of a child.

"You lost, Jadis. Did you not know?" Narnia's High King steps out of the shadows, and they fall back in the face of his strength.

"Winter ended." The Gentle one speaks, iron underneath the soft voice.

"Spring came." The joy of Valiance echoes.

The White Witch fades a little. But the icy smile on her face remains. She is assured of victory. After all this time, victory. She will win this time. "You were wrong, children." She leans forward, feline grace and eerie countenance. "Winter did not end." She smiles.

"It was only waiting."

Without another word, she reaches for the boy, icicles hanging from her sleeves, glittering like jewels in the cold light. "Is it not so, my Just King?" A dagger, lion's blood still clinging to it like the past that will not let go.

There is something special about the Justice and Magnificence of Narnia. It always has been so. The blood and love and hope of brothers is not lost, is never lost, and the High King steps quietly forward, shielding his little brother from the eternal winter of Jadis' promises. Sharp steel enters the chest of a boy who is so much more, and red blood shimmers on the blade as she retracts it, satisfaction in her features.

"Hope fades," she whispers. "I won."

The Queens stand, caught in horror and grief, paralysed by their brother's blood. _No, _Lucy thinks, but she cannot speak.

_It's not fair..._

"No."

_Life seldom is..._

A dark figure rises from the corner, and the room dims. _Does it matter? _

_It matters. _"Justice, Jadis. It is but a word, is it not?"

She steps back.

"Not always." The might that the Lion has given the Just.

"There is a due." Cold promises. Dark light.

"Somehow..." Sisters shrink back before the righteous horror.

"There is a balance before the world breaks. For the wrong you have done..." Ice melts.

"For the pain you have given, and for the cold you have begun..." Flowers bloom.

A world waits for the decision of Justice.

* * *

Please review! =)


	10. Sun

I... still do not own Narnia.

Next chapter! Thanks to all reviewers (: This is probably the last chapter, plus one small epilogue coming soon. Thank you to everyone who bothered to read the drivel coming from the fingers of a very inexperienced writer, and especially to those who left comments!

* * *

Edmund didn't really understand what was going on. In that detached state his consciousness had evidently decided that Jadis, who had died _twice_, appearing perfectly alive was something absolutely normal. The part of him that had just woken up- _by the blood of one he held most dear and the voice of one he hated to the bowels of Narnia-_ vehemently objected, but somehow he thought that now might not be the most ideal time to reflect on the subtleties of resurrection.

He had judgement to deal out.

Jadis. Witch. Beautiful. Cold. Traitor. Deceiver. Killer. Gorgeous. Horrific. Terrifying. Death. A litany of words he associated with the ice soul of the woman- she wasn't even a woman, if he remembered correctly- currently staring him straight in the face. _No more._ How many nights had he spent shaking and sleepless, red lips and white face touching his in his dreams? How many times had he heard the frigid '_King'_ in her voice when someone addressed him by his title? _No more._

"You will haunt the light no more. No more. Nay, by the Word of Aslan King over all Kings in Narnia, son of the Emperor-over-the-sea, _saviour, _I, Edmund the Just, _King_ of Narnia, I banish you, you and your cold remnants of evil from myself and from these worlds. As Aslan wills it, it will be so." The ringing _King_ that held the power and majesty of something above and beyond the human child standing before the Witch, the power of a Lion...

And she was gone.

Silence.

Whether everyone was shocked to silence, or simply couldn't think of anything to say (Edmund could certainly empathise) he wasn't sure. But Lucy, _of course Lucy_, broke it, springing forward with an inarticulate cry only to stagger to a standstill somewhere vaguely between her two brothers, as if she for the life of her could not decide which one she wanted to hug. Susan aided her in this dilemma, flying to Edmund's side and watching, out of the corner of her eye, Lucy rush to Peter.

And _that_ was when the rational, logical part of his brain (he distantly noted that it was the most Susan-like part of him) decided that all this was the most ridiculous, unreal situation it had ever been found in and passed out.

* * *

Cold.

So cold.

Blue light.

Echoes.

Cold.

Later, he wondered whether that was what Edmund had felt when Jadis stabbed him- and immediately wanted to bring Jadis back simply for the pleasure of strangling her- but in that moment, he was literally speechless. Then agony faded and he was deposited unceremoniously back into the rather unpleasant reality of staring a machine in the face.

And the even more unpleasant sight of his little sister running straight at it, as if somehow she did not deem the metal, extremely hard-looking thing in her way worth her notice at all.

This was unbelievable, he found himself thinking. And he'd thought he was the one dying. Or maybe he was, just that his littlest sister had decided to join him in the attempt. Maybe a mass suicide? Although it didn't really suit Narnia's youngest queen, he mused as he hurtled at Lucy, throwing her very firmly off her path, simultaneously wondering how on earth the workers had managed to miss the family of seeming lunatics in their workspace and noticing Susan at Edmund's side.

Lucy.

No matter how cynical his thoughts had grown, his sister could always bring out the best in him, in _everyone_, and-

Lucy...

She was panting hard beneath him, her breaths hot and fast on his face as he rolled off her, fear choking him as he examined her. 'Are you alright?" sprang to his tongue, but didn't make it out before a whirling mass of little sister began to strangle him, tears brushing his face even as they left her eyes, and he simply held her, wordless with his love and her light, brother and sister...

"What...just...happened?" Perhaps it was predictable that Susan would ask first, of all of them. Three pairs of eyes turned to Edmund, who had come to by this time, and looked about as baffled as the others, before worry took foremost place on his face. "Peter? Are you all right?"

Cue Susan and Lucy to start mothering him.

"I am fine," he stated with as impressively stern a glance as he could conjure (admittedly not very impressive), "And in any case, although I want to interrogate Ed as much as you, I think we ought to get out of this place as quickly as possible..." He stared apprehensively at the _thing- _for lack of a better word- Lucy had nearly collided with, "In fact, immediately."

* * *

"Jadis _what_?"

It was, Edmund reflected, a good thing for Jadis that he'd sent her off, because facing Peter in full I-am-the-older-brother-get-off-my-siblings mode was intimidating, to say the least. The fact that Peter was sporting a bloodstain, a bruise where the knife had entered, and a very sprained ankle merely accented the image of battle-experienced and infuriated king, and he almost found himself sympathising with the Witch, before remembering with painful clarity what she had done to him, and the sliver of pity swiftly disappeared.

"She... wasn't there." Edmund looked slightly sheepish, while his siblings looked at him with expressions which clearly implied their opinion of his intelligence.

"Edmund, she stabbed Peter." Susan's Voice Of Reason persona appeared, along with her most logical tone. "I think we can all conclude that she most definitely was there."

"But she was dead."

"Ah... That's true. But she was dead the first time, too, and didn't seem to have any trouble appearing."

"Caspian called her."

"You..." Susan trailed off, staring at her brother. "You called her?" There was silence in the little circle, Edmund contemplating the question while his siblings struggled with the concept. "Edmund?"

"She comes to despair." He spoke finally, soft and sad, with a strange timbre to his voice that spoke of hard-gained maturity. "And death, and coldness... It _is_ her, so to speak. And after Dad, and never going back, I think I... conjured her. Imagined her. And you saw her because you saw what I saw. If I fell to her, I don't believe I would have died, exactly. Just... changed. To be closer to the darkness, and welcome the memories of her when I should repulse them." He smiled suddenly, face set alight by the curve of his lips and the soft brightness in his eyes. "I think I beat her. She won't be coming back."

His siblings watched him wordlessly for a long moment, before a smile touched Peter's lips, and he reached forward to embrace his little brother, pride burning in his heart. Peter, more than anyone else, knew what Edmund had seen in the Witch, what she had done to him, the betrayal and arctic beauty of Jadis and one box of sweets.

"I knew it!" Lucy's exultant voice broke their reverie, and eyes turned to the girl, whose smile rivalled Edmund's for its joy. Her voice dropped, a hushed love. "I knew you could do it. Somehow." Small smile stole across reluctant lips as Susan finally gave in and grinned, turning to her brother. "You really should have condemned her to an eternal hell of Turkish Delight or something of that sort."

A broad smile and a snort escaped Edmund's lips, before he sobered. "Peter. All of you, really. I need to say- "

"Nothing." Susan cut in, firmly. "It's forgotten, all right?" Edmund blinked owlishly at her, looking slightly bemused.

"But..."

"Children?" An even more bemused looking mother stood in the doorway, watching her children and holding up a note. "Peter? I thought you went out?"

Looking slightly shamefaced, her eldest nodded. "We... just got back." He stammered a little before exclaiming, sounding rather idiotic, "The city is beautiful in the morning."

"Ah..." His mother looked at his very strangely. "I suppose it is. Well, breakfast will be ready soon, come down when you're ready." She left.

"Beautiful!" Edmund snorted, mirth shining in his eyes. "Yes, Peter, London is so beautiful!"

"Shut up," Peter retorted, and they laughed.

* * *

Please review!


	11. Epilogue

And the epilogue is finally out. Thank you so much to all reviewers for taking the time to drop a comment on this story; I am so very grateful that anyone bothered to read and feedback on this first foray of mine into the wilds of fanfiction.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_Violets are blooming, it is springtime, but a persistent rain falls._

_It is a grey, rather depressing state of affairs, cold and weary and heartsick. But three violets grow tall, and strong, and brave. They hold close to their hearts the memory of a gentle, radiant sun that shone for them, and the promise this golden being made that he would find them once again, and always keep and be with them. Somehow in the wild, barren rocks that litter the wayside, evidence of many a story that crashed and burned, three beautiful, beautiful flowers are budding._

_A storm begins, one great and terrible. Lightning lashes at them, and hail batters their delicate, yet strong forms. They bend, but never break in the howling wind, and their leaves are uplifted in hope and faith, for even in the darkest of times they remember that which is good and great and so much brighter than any storm could be dark._

_And a hand reaches from the heavens, a hand that lovingly, so lovingly, takes them and bears them up, up, to the fields of heaven that await three children when they come home._

_But the hand pauses, too, over a lone, wilting violet that lies discarded by the road. The rain renews, stronger and sadder than before, as the skies cry for a lost child, even as a quiet heart rejoices that one day she will return._

_The hand withdraws, and the three violets, vibrating with joy and love, are drawn to His kingdom, finally and forever._

_

* * *

_

_Violets are blooming- so many violets!_

_Spring has come yet again, brushing each flower with an indescribably sweet touch that whispers of hope. Soon, they whisper amongst themselves, soon, something is coming. _

_Amongst them stands a flower tall and proud and exquisite. There is a sublimity about it that comes of sorrow and courage, love and grief, an elegance that holds fast to the remnants of a long-lost life and a beauty undimmed by fear or doubt, but illuminated by absolute faith._

_And rain begins, not fierce but gentle, rain that sings of wistful dreams and faraway thought. It is filled, every drop, with a pulsing love that quickens every beat of her heart and sets her hopes on fire with a remembrance of a lion, all those years ago, who was the one and only who ever made her soul take flight, fitting wings to her pounding heart and letting her hands loosen and drop every worry and sorrow and anger she'd harboured, a magnificence inexplicable that realises her most heartfelt wishes as it manifests into the face of a lion._

_A smile paints his golden face in beautiful joy, and he reaches a paw to her, and with a joyous sob she lets herself be taken, up, up, to the meadows of forever, in the embrace of a Lion._

_

* * *

_

Hm, not exactly what you'd have expected, is it? I always maintained my belief that Susan did go home, in the end, and I hope I did justice to that idea here.

Please review!


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